


Papaoutai

by ms bricolage (onefootforward)



Series: leapin' ladybug, that there is some crack-tastic fic [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Crack, Gen, a+, is there a tag for when all four parts of the love square are filled?, omg how is that a tag, this is a prime example of dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 11:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5784316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onefootforward/pseuds/ms%20bricolage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“After all,” she says, quite reasonably, “some of the stones might be in America. You would have to go find an abandoned attic in Vegas, and no one wants to do that.”</p><p>“You’d be sharing it with a bunch of drunk Americans.” Chat adds.</p><p>This, of all things, makes Hawkmoth gasp in horror. “You might have a point.”</p><p> </p><p>also known as the crack fic where ladybug and chat help hawkmoth work through his problems. with additional fluff and ft. marinette blushing. a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Papaoutai

“We need to go about this differently.”

“Mhmm,” he agrees, “definitely.”

Her nose scrunches. “Currently it’s a little…ineffective?”

“Rather than ineffective I’d say…”

“What?” She prods.

“Completely wrong.” He leans over the bed to tap a finger against her sheet. “You’re not even using the right equation Marinette.”

“ _Noooo_ , not that—wait, what do you mean I’ve got the wrong equation?” She interrupts herself with a huff, moving to shoot him an incredulous look even though it means craning her head over the top of the bed.

“Well, why are you using Hooke’s Law for a question about power?”

“What—no, look, there’s the…that _F_ , it’s there, and it’s in the question.”

He flops onto his stomach, head knocking next to hers. Marinette’s got sheets of paper spread across the floor in an attempt at mastering…something. Adrien’s pretty sure it isn’t physics.

“See, you want to put the force constant into _this_ equation,” he says, pointing, “so that you can get an answer to put into the one for potential energy.”

“But that’s _deceptive_.”

“It’s a test?” He tries, but when she continues to burn holes into the page with her stare, he settles with, “It’s worth half your grade?”

She sighs, leaning back into his shoulder—he’d claimed the bed, throwing himself across it haphazardly after a long evening of patrolling, while Marinette had pulled several _binders_ of notes out of her bag and settled onto the floor, back against her bed frame. Adrien was pretty comfortable just relaxing…Marinette’s house is always so much cozier than his own, and it wasn’t as if _he_ was about to fail a final in _physics_. It was like, the one subject he was actual confident in.

“It’s _stupid_ is what it is.” He makes a small noise of agreement. “Also true, I guess,” she continues, looking up at him. It’s when she bats her eyes at him that he thinks he’s a lost cause. “So. Potential energy?”

He curls his lips. “Potential _something_.” He mutters, turning into her neck and kissing her lightly.

“Adrien…” she starts warningly.

“It’s uh, power multiplied by—” he nips at a particularly sensitive spot under her jaw, taking careful note of the way her fingers tighten, crinkling the formula sheet—patrolling always makes him a little…frisky, “—energy, equals mass multiplied by...”

He twists so that he’s stretched over her face, which is tipped up to meet his. It’s a perfect rom-com moment…which Marinette ruins by giggling. It’s for the best, since Adrien finds he’s gone completely blank on the rest of his sentence.

She’s just so _cute_.

“No _way_ kitty cat,” she teases, cheeks flushed, “I’ve got—” he drops a small kiss on her nose, which predictably scrunches up again, “— _things_ to master.”

“No fair, you’re setting me up!” He leans back though, grinning.

“You’re rubbing off on me,” she shrugs, “ _and_ you missed my point, getting all caught up in your _ridiculous_ love of physics.”

His grin widens, though he holds his tongue. Well, for a moment at least.

“Caught up in my ridiculous love of _you_ —”

“ _Not_ the homework,” she counters, putting the piece of paper down and turning to face him. She’s still blushing though, so he counts it as a win. “I think we’re going about the _akumas_ the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?”

She brings up her arms and crosses them on the bed, settling her chin on top of them. Adrien dies a little inside. _So. Cute._

“Well like…we keep fighting the akumas. But we never go looking for the _source_ of them. Plagg told me he could probably track down another miraculous stone user.”

Adrien blinks. “Wait, _Plagg_ told you?”

She grins. “What, is it weird that your akuma likes to hang out with me? Maybe you’re setting a bad example.”

“Maybe _you’re_ bribing him with cheese.”

She shrugs, nonplussed. “It’s not my fault you fall asleep here after a battle, leaving poor little Plagg—”

“Poor Plagg my _ass_ —”

“—all _hungry_ and _sad_.”

“…You know you’re being taken advantage of, right?”

“ _I_ am?”

“Mhmm.”

There’s that _look_ in her eyes, then she’s straightened up and is kissing him before he has a chance to think—there’s a hand on his knee, hers, he realizes absently, opening himself to the kiss, and another one buried in his hair, and she’s _going to kill him_. She cranes up until she’s bent over him, and damn it, he _likes_ being taken advantage of.

“So,” she says, drawing back just so that he can lose himself in her eyes, “what do you think?”

“Excellent.” he replies breathlessly, “You should do that again.”

She smirks. “About the _plan_ handsome boy. C’mon, keep up.”

“Bringing the fight to the big bad?” She nods, her fingers carding an absolutely _maddening_ rhythm through the hair at the nape of his neck. Just like this, she holds all of his weaknesses in the palm of her hand—he’s settled himself there rather willing.

Just like this; he’s being led by her, and he’s following all too eagerly.

“Sounds paws-itively _purrfect_ m’lady,” he says, and cranes up to kiss the smile right off her lips.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There are a lot of stones.

“Why can’t we just contact Master Fu?” Adrien groans, smashing his forehead into his keyboard. It’s been four _hours_ of googling news articles around the world, trying to differentiate between vigilantes and actual powered superheroes, and it’s just—honestly, he deserves the pleasure of taking the frustration of attempting to translate Arabic out on his keyboards.

True to fashion, the computer makes a beeping noise and starts whirring rather rapidly. Adrien’s too annoyed to lift his head up and see what exactly he’s screwed up this time—with three computer monitors, there are a lot of options.

“Master Fu is all…unreachable for the good of mankind. Us-kind. Whatever, you know how he is.” Marinette replies.

“Unreachable for the good of his _tan_ you mean. Wasn’t he in Nice last week?”

Marinette shrugs. “Possibly? Or Lisbon. It’s only a five hour plane ride to Lisbon.”

Adrien makes a noncommittal hum. “We could ditch the current plan, spend the weekend on the beach instead. Pretend to track down Master Fu.”

“In Portugal?”

“Well there aren’t really beaches in Paris.” He teases.

There’s the sound of laughter, and Adrien is weak—he can’t help but flop his head over, turning his face to the side despite still resting it on top of the keyboards. Marinette is laying on her stomach on top of his bed, her laptop flipped open in front of her. Soft music filters from her speakers, something with a steady beat, slow and soothing.

It’s moments like these that he needs to remember; imprint them onto the back of his eyelids so that he always knows what he’s fighting for. _Who_ he’s fighting for. It’s sappy to think. _He’s_ sappy. Adrien finds that he doesn’t really care, after all—Marinette _likes_ that he’s sappy. Marinette likes _him_. Her existence in his life is enough to prompt any—

“How about this kitty,” Marinette says, her voice filtering through Adrien’s daydream, “If we can get rid of the source of all these akumas, I’ll promise you a whole week in whatever sunny spot you want.”

He bolts straight up in his seat. Blinks a few times. “Deal. Yeah, totally—deal.”

She laughs again. “Fair warning, I tend to uh, freckle when I have too much sun.”

Adrien feels dangerously reckless. “Wow,” he says, strangled, “why haven’t we been studying outside?”

Marinette’s ears turn red as she smiles, not taking her eyes off her screen, “Because it’s nearly winter, silly.”

Adrien makes a sudden promise to himself that the moment it even threatens to turn balmy, he’ll drag Marinette outside. He’ll even get Tom and Sabine in on the plan—sunshine is _healthy_ , okay, they’ll appreciate his vested interest in their daughter’s wellbeing…also, this way he’ll get loads of bakery goods to go with them. Tom’s macaroons are _to die for_ , literally, he would take up arms if it meant a steady supply of his sweets.

Of course, he could just _marry_ into Marinette’s family, finally learn some of those secret recipes for himself…it’s hardly an idle fantasy of his, nor is it the first time he’s had it. Baked goods aside, it would formalize everything Adrien’s been feeling for the past few years, add another ring to his finger to reinforce what the first one always meant…that he’d be at her side for as long as she’d have him, as a partner and a supporter. It’s a ridiculous fantasy, one he always shies from telling Marinette—they’re barely adults, according to the world, and they have so much more of themselves to discover…

But then he thinks of what Marinette might look like a few years from now and he _wants_ it.

“Adrien,” Marinette says, “you’re purring.”

He leans back in his chair. “Mhmm,” he agrees, not taking his eyes off her. “Just thinking about beaches.”

She turns to him. She’s flustered—he can tell, even when she doesn’t blush or stammer, he can just tell. Which is sort of ridiculous, since for _months_ pre-reveal, Adrien had no idea Marinette was nervous around him.

He watches her now—eyes wide, her mouth parted just a bit. Adrien in the past was an _idiot_.

“Beaches?” She repeats.

“Yeah,” he says softly.

There’s a loaded moment of silence before she collects herself, which she does in the way of hooking a pillow with her feet and launching it in Adrien’s general direction. He only avoids it because he sees the expression on her face a split second before she moves—a mixture of nerves and delight—and can’t stop himself from doubling over in laughter.

And they say _he’s_ the unlucky one.

“What—”

“Adrien Agreste,” she says in a commanding tone, nearly masking her own laughter, “you stop imaging me in a bikini _right now_ and—just, focus on the _plan_ ,” he sits up, holding his hands out in the universal gesture of peace—Marinette keeps going, “and…and…”

“And what?” he purrs.

“And—Plagg,” Adrien stares at her in confusion, at least until the kwami himself shoots up, startled out of his spot curled under the covers of Adrien’s bed, “Plagg, please help knock some sense into your friend.”

Plagg yawns widely in response. “Yeah,” he mutters, “because I’m the sensible one.”

Adrien just keeps his hands up, smiling. “No, I got it—akumas before beaches.”

She nods. Adrien continues blithely, “At least until summertime.”

It’s a sign of how long they’ve been working together that Marinette just shakes her head a little and flops back down onto the bed without any further protest. Adrien takes his cues where they’re given, and spins around in his chair to see what sort of damage he’s done to the computer screens.

It’s…they’re blue. _Death_ blue. The blue of a thousand dying electronics.

"Plagg," he groans into his hands, "remind me again why we can’t just go with your gut instinct?”

The kwami floats a slow barrel roll, his version of a shrug. “We could,” he says, “but I’ll just as soon point you in the direction of the stone that’s in Pakistan as I will the one that’s in Paris. I don’t do distance, just…direction.”

Marinette perks up. “There’s a miraculous stone in Pakistan?”

“I dunno. Could be. There’s one east of us,” Plagg heads over to her, flopping between the spot where her elbows rest on Adrien’s duvet. “The stone’s go where they’re needed.”

Adrien’s phone buzzes. He reads the text quick and stands up, stretching until he thinks he can actually feel his toes again.

“Well _this_ stone is going where it’s needed…which is with Nino and Alya. They invited us to hang out. Ten minute break?”

Marinette scoffs at the _ten minute_ part, but she also immediately closes her laptop. “Oh kitty,” she says, “you read my mind.”

“Good.” Adrien shoots a desperate look at his computer monitors. “Because I think I might have broken my internet.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It is _pure luck_ that as the four of them stroll through Paris’ streets—attempting to decide between one bowling alley and the next—something sets Plagg off. He perks up out of Marinette’s bag, Tikki close behind him.

Adrien, who will shamelessly use any excuse in these situations, sidles next to her and leans into her personal space. “What is it?” he whispers.

Marinette turns wide eyes to him. At her side, Plagg says, “I felt the stone. It’s uh…just around the block.”

“Around this block?”

Tikki nods. It’s all the confirmation they need. Ridiculously _lucky_ confirmation, but Ladybug is the guardian of good luck and Chat's just riding her coat tails-maybe it shouldn't come as such a surprise. Adrien covers as Marinette sneaks away, just to confirm it’s a house and not a shop of some kind, and to jot down the address so that they have a place to come back to.

They’d go tonight only…well Alya is under the absolutely _incorrect_ notion that she’s better than him at bowling, and someone’s got to set the record straight.

Or just plain _set the record_ as it were.

“I can’t believe Marinette _left_ before we’d decided which alley to go to.” Alya complains, boring holes into Adrien’s skull—Alya is a bit of a reporter type, and Adrien is…well, really bad at lying.

“She’s just—had to make a call!”

“And she couldn’t make it _here_?”

Adrien shuffles forward nervously. “You know Marinette, never wants to hamper others. She’ll just meet us at the bowling alley—”

Alya huffs. “We never _decided_ on a bowling alley.”

“Uhm…I’ll text her?” He holds up his phone hopefully.

There’s always this faint whisper in the back of his mind when he talks to Alya. Mostly it just goes _Alya knows, Alya knows, Alya_ knows _._ Usually Adrien keeps this to himself—less pressure for Marinette, firstly, and if he’s _wrong_ , well…Marinette isn’t always the most _subtle_ about secrets.

It’s absolutely _adorable_. Just, bad for the heart, probably.

Only now, as he inadvertently enters a staring contest with Alya, over Marinette or the bowling alley or just _secrets_ , Adrien thinks it’ll be all too soon before he can accost Marinette and beg her to just _let Alya know_.

It’s a little hypocritical, since he hasn’t told Nino yet either—only, Alya is _great_ at secrets, keeps confidential sources completely air locked, which is impressive since they’re eighteen and Adrien isn’t sure how many confidential sources most eighteen year olds even _have_. Nino is…just as bad as Adrien is. But _louder_.

They successfully make it to the bowling alley at the same time Marinette does, which doesn’t really help the whole _you stopped to make a phone call but somehow also beat us here_ line of questioning that starts up. Luckily Nino is there, and Nino is competitive and cheery and easily waylays the conversation into _do or die_.

Adrien _does_. Marinette sort of… _dies_.

“What,” she says defensively, “I’m _athletic_. This isn’t a sport.”

Alya hollers, “We’ve had this argument before—it’s a sport.”

“There’s no physical _benefit_ —”

“If there are nationals,” Alya says, “it’s a sport.”

Marinette sulks at Adrien’s laughing face. “Yeah, that’s how she got me to agree the _first_ time.”

Alya saunters back from her spot at the lane, radiating confidence—which makes sense, since she’s just gotten her third strike in a row. She high fives Nino as she passes, collapsing into the seat next to Adrien.

“You’re laughing now lover boy,” she says, “but I don’t think you understand how _bad_ Marinette is at this. Your team is going _down._ ”

“Hey!” Marinette cries.

Alya shrugs, smiling. “Girl, I am your number one fan,” Adrien glances at her nervously, “but you are terrible at any game that isn’t on a video screen.”

Marinette laughs. “It’s true.”

Adrien wraps his arm around Marinette as the three of them turn to watch Nino’s ball bank slowly to the left, dropping into the gutter _well_ before it can reach the pins. “You know,” he says, “I wouldn't worry about _my_ team.”

Alya smirks. “Oh no. I taught Nino well. Marinette is _unteachable_. You can’t even try.”

Adrien glances from one girl to the next, only minutely distracted by the way the fluorescent lights bring out the already small spattering of spots on Marinette’s nose, something he can’t stop noticing now that she’s mentioned it to him.

“You won’t let me try?” He asks.

Marinette leans into Adrien’s side and smiles peacefully. “Adrien?”

He grins. “Yeah?”

“If you ever make me spend my summer at a bowling alley and call it _for the greater good_ I will hurt you. As in ‘make sure you never get another baked good in your life’ hurt you.”

Adrien shoots Alya a look. She just widens her eyes, innocent if not for the smirk that touches her lips. “It was _one_ summer.”

“A summer from hell.” Marinette frowns. “I smelled like _feet._ Just, all the time, me and the feet smell. For _no reason._ ”

“For _science_. For integrity! For—”

They’re distracted by a loud cheer. Adrien watches as Nino does a small circle around the front of the lane, humming a tune that sounds like it might come from _Rocky_.

“I got it on the second go!”

Alya blows him a kiss. “Awesome babe!” She turns back to laugh at Adrien’s dumbstruck expression. “I _told_ you. Practicing with Nino was _easy._ ”

Marinette blows at a stray strand of hair that’s fallen on her nose. “Just because you get all hot and bothered by competition and use _making out_ as a reward system—”

Nino, almost on cue, plops into the seat next to Aly and drops a quick kiss on her lips. Nothing risqué, but enough that Marinette leans over Adrien to point a finger in Alya’s face, and cry, “ _See_?” as Alya smiles widely.

Adrien uses the position to his advantage and noses at Marinette’s ear. “Making out as a rewards system?” He whispers.

Marinette startles back into her seat, her hand on her ear. Her eyes narrow. “No.”

“I didn’t _say_ anything—”

“You didn’t have to,” she says.

He protests, “But—”

“No.”

“It could be—”

“Bad kitty.”

Alya makes a punched out noise that makes Adrien _heavily_ tempted to just lay his head in his hands for a long while. Nino stares at them all and slowly says, “I think I missed something.”

“Nope,” Marinette says, “Just me about to go up there and _kick ass_.”

They go on to bowl three games, all of which Adrien and Marinette lose.

It’s an amazing night.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay, so…whoever it is, they live in...an abandoned house.”

She nods, biting her lip—one of Ladybug’s rather charming tells, which simultaneously gives away her plans and drives Chat _insane_.

“Actually,” she counters, “they live in an abandoned _mansion_.”

“Does that make it better?”

“Uhm…probably not.”

He rolls back on his heels. “Sooooo…we’re going in?”

“Yup,” she frowns suddenly, “It’s not weird right?”

There’s a man on the street corner who’s been stopped long enough that Chat isn’t surprised when he pulls out his phone and raises it up in the obvious glee of someone who’s just spotted a celebrity and can’t wait to prove it to ten of their closest friends. Usually it’s just some well-intended citizen, eager to add to their snapchat story, but the media can get a little crazy.

“What’s not weird?” He asks absently, stepping up to Ladybug’s side and putting himself solidly between her and the man’s camera phone.

A _click_ goes off, the silicone material of his ears twitching as they catch the far-off sound waves. Beside him Ladybug huffs.

“That it was so _easy_.” she says, nudging her hip into his.

“Easy? Did you _see_ how much cambert I had to give Plagg this morning? We might have shorted Paris’ supplies.”

“You’re too hard on him.”

“You’re too nice.” He teases, lips already quirked up in an easy grin. “And,” he adds, “the only thing really weird about this is that he’s here still and there’s no akuma terrorizing the city.”

“What, do you think he lives here full time? Maybe he’s just lonely.”

Chat snorts. “Well then, that’ll be an easy fix—we can just take the big bad guy out for some coffee and _pain du chocolate_.”

“Right, that’s a good plan. Nothing with cheese in it though.” Ladybug laughs.

He feels his face drop. “Agreed.”

The inside of the mansion is creepy enough—first off, who has an abandoned mansion in _Paris_ , like, who can even afford to not live in it? The sheer wastefulness is scary in its own right. And secondly, it’s just, it’s super dusty, on account of being abandoned and all, and Chat can’t stop sneezing every time there’s a dramatic lengthy pause.

They clear the first two levels of the house, which leaves them faced with the rickety spiral staircase that leads up into the attic. Chat makes a face at this, quickly covered by Ladybug’s hand as she tries to stifle his sneeze.

“We’ll never have the element of surprise at this rate.” She hisses. Marinette’s a little snappy when she’s nervous, which shows even as her superhero self.

Chat puts his hands over hers and pulls them away, bending his head closer to hers so that he can whisper. “If they’re in the attic, with the _giant window_ , I think we’ve already lost that.” He points out.

Her eyes narrow. “So our sneak attack is, ah—”

“Oh, you wouldn’t—”

“—out the window?”

Chat’s cheeks stretch with the force of his grin. Also with the force of keeping his sneezing down.

“Spot on.” He agrees. Ladybug scrunches her nose and Chat has to give himself a moment’s pause to clear the _I love you I love you I love you_ that circles in his head.

Of course, when they open the door to the attic, he gets the pleasure of his mind going completely blank of everything except the thought that— _wow, that’s a lot of fucking butterflies._

“That’s a lot of butterflies,” Ladybug says next to him.

There’s a man in the middle of the chaos—of course there would be, otherwise what is the point of this whole adventure. He’s dressed in greys and purples and a _ridiculous_ mask. Only his lips show, two thin lines stretch towards his chin in stark disapproval…it might look intimidating, if they could see the rest of his face, but with the mask the way it is, the Big Bad of their lives just seems…weird.

 _I shouldn’t throw stones in glass houses_ , he thinks. After all, he wears silicone cat ears on top of his head. Mind you, he looks _really fucking adorable_ doing so, but—

Right. Evil man, creepy attic.

Adrien sneezes again. Even up here there is _so much dust_. It’s not his fault then, that the first thing he says to the big bad guy who’s been terrorizing them for the last few years—on and off again, depending on the season—is,

“Dude. I think you need to clean up your act-ic.”

The man blinks. Ladybug pointedly refuses to look his way. Chat resists high fiving himself and only manages by sneaking his hands behind his back and doing it where Ladybug can’t have any evidence.

“Ladybug! And Chat Noir,” the man says after a beat, deciding to ignore him, “Just the two people I want to see! You have made a grave mistake coming upon my lair this evening—”

“You know,” Ladybug cuts in, hands on her hips—and her weapon, “you didn't even know we were coming."

He scoffs, "Preposterous-"

" _And_ ," she presses, "from what I can tell, you never want to _actually_ see us in person…you just send your little minions here to infect people and come after us by proxy.”

“Unsuccessfully,” Chat adds.

“ _Unsuccessfully_ send your little minions to come after us.” She repeats.

The man—Butterfly Bandit? _Papillon de jour_? Had he nicknamed himself or were there _possibilities_?—stares at Ladybug for a second, lips pursed. They’re so thin they practically disappear when pressed together. His stare continues long enough that it's awkward, the dramatic pause building and building until it just...flops; maybe he constantly sent out proxies to interact with them because he was actually _really bad_ at snarky comebacks.

"Just leave then, if you're going to judge." He says at last.

"No judging—"

Chat interrupts, "A  _little_ bit of judging."

" _Not much judging_ then," Ladybug amends, shooting him an exasperated look, "but more uhm—are you not going to try and attack us?"

The man straightens. "Is that what you  _want_ me to do?"

Ladybug stares. Stares some more. "Nooo?" Chat interjects, even though it comes out more like a question than a statement.

"Then I shall—"

"Wait!" Ladybug holds up her hands. "What if I said it  _was_ what I wanted?"

The man's eyes narrow. He taps his cane against the floor a few times but makes no move to _use_ it. Chat's beginning to believe that it's no more of a weapon than the butterflies are; a prop rather than an instrument to fight with. Though there's no doubt about it—between the utter lack of denial and the  _extraordinary_ number of butterflies, this has to be the guy they want.

But...it really isa  _ridiculous_ number of butterflies. Do they stay here  _all the time_? What do they eat? Does the man  _raise_ them, and does that mean there are some caterpillars lazying about in a yet to be discovered wing of this place, just waiting to turn into butterflies for this dude to fuck around with? And also, what is  _up_ with this attic, it is super fucking  _nice._ Chat wouldn't even mind living in an attic this nice, provided there was a bed and a usable internet connection.

His thoughts tumble from him rather helplessly, particularly given that the man is silent yet again, as if he needs the time to consider Ladybug's question. "This is really weird," he hisses.

Ladybug whispers back without taking her eyes from the man. "I  _know_ that."

"Yes but does  _he_ know that?"

"He's going to if you  _keep talking._ "

"I will not fight you," the man declares abruptly, with a hint of triumph in his tone. "I won't give you what you want."

Chat's beginning to have a bad feeling about all of this.

The sun only barely filters through the window, creating a spotlight of sorts on their villain. He's still just...standing there, looking for all intents and purposes as if he's just thwarted their plans. Chat has to resist the urge to start swatting at the butterflies, if only for something to  _do._

"Okay well," Ladybug looks at him uncertainly, "Then sir, you are under arrest for uh..."

"Nefariousness?" Chat suggests. He doesn't mention that they're probably not really  _allowed_ to make arrests. The rules are a little...smudged when it comes to them.

"Intent to commit a crime?"

"Illegal possession of a fuck ton of butterflies?"

The man scowls. "I have done nothing  _wrong_."

Chat leans over. "He's getting mad at us." He says under his breath.

Ladybug nods. "Yup."

"For criticizing him."

"Looks that way."

Chat clears his throat. "Sir? You know you're—trespassing!" He steps forward excitedly. "Yeah, you're trespassing, that's illegal."

"That's a crime." Ladybug agrees. "And the police here happen to like us a lot."

"Even if we were judging you for...well, you know. Being a villain."

"Releasing evil butterflies?"

"Right, even if we were judging you for that, it doesn't really matter, since we're here because you're uhm...trespassing."

Ladybug side eyes him. Chat realizes there's a bit of a conundrum in terms of actually charging a man for using people's inner weaknesses against them. He doesn't voice this out loud.

The man's shoulders go stiff. He suspiciously stops moving and Chat has to start worrying if maybe he's forgotten to breathe altogether.

"Sir...?"

"You just don't understand." The man mutters under his breath.

"Sir—" Chat repeats.

"It's Hawkmoth," the guy hisses, finally turning around again. "Sir Hawkmoth, I suppose, if you must—"

"No, just Hawkmoth is fine." Ladybug interrupts. She's sending Chat these looks, which he's getting a little fearful over. Ladybug's looks tend to mean the start of some plan or another that Chat probably isn't going to approve of. Not that it matters, since Marinette leads this little sideshow, and Chat's probably going to listen anyway.

"If we don't understand why you're...turning Paris into bad guys, maybe you could help us to."

Oh no.

Ladybug glances over at him, eyes wide and pointed. Eyes that say _oh yes._

So Chat takes note of the room that their arch nemesis is calling home, a room that contains neither hawks nor moths. And he nods.

Ladybug smiles, even if it's a little wobbly, like even _she_ thinks this is a bad idea. She takes a step closer to Hawkmoth. "So uhm...how does coffee sound?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

There are at least five different people surreptitiously taking videos of their group. It's not exactly worse than the time Vulpina came into town and everyone had taken to stalking the three of them, assuming some sort of superhero love triangle, though it's absolutely weirder. Chat supposes that Hawkmoth looks a bit too...off, for that to happen.

Well—old. Chat never knew how old to peg Ladybug prior to their reveal, but it's definitely nowhere near the age of Hawkmoth. Hawkmoth, with the full grey, silicone mask that’s frankly a little too reminiscent of some sort of S&M play, and who's weeping into a cup of earl grey.

He watches idly as a sixth phone creeps up over someone's shoulder. Even if they were out of costume, the crying sort of draws attention.

“I just don’t _understand_ them!”

"Mmm," Ladybug soothes, laying her hand over one of Hawkmoth's. She’d stopped sending those helpless looks of confusion to Chat after he’d made his third bird-related pun of the evening. It wasn’t his fault—his bird humour was just _so much better_ than his bug stuff.

Chat leans over the table. “Teenagers?”

Hawkmoth nods.

“You don’t…understand teenagers?”

Hawkmoth nods again, this time accompanied by a hiccuping sob. It’s…really weird.

“Uhm,” Ladybug starts off uncertainly, despite rarely being uncertain while wearing the costume, “and this relates to your uh, your son?”

“And…” he sniffs, “my—my missing _wife_ —”

Hawkmoth, as it turns out, needs more friends. Possibly also less subordinates.

Chat wants someone to pinch him. He wants to go to bed and wake up to do this day over again, this time with a larger dash of reality. Because seriously? This is the evil mastermind they've been fighting all this time? Hawkmoth has spent at least half of their transformation time whining about how hard it is to raise a son who refuses to keep good company. He’d even mentioned—by name—the mayor’s daughter. If Hawkmoth’s biggest motivator was that his son wouldn’t hang out with Chloe, well…Chat didn’t really see anything they could do.

Hey, he liked Chloe just fine, when she’s wasn’t being…so, _Chloe_ , about things. But she was definitely an acquired taste.

_Everyone has family problems I guess._

The sobbing goes on for another few minutes as Ladybug tries to convince Hawkmoth that maybe, just maybe, the _police_ might be a better option for finding a missing person. Compared to say, stealing all the miraculous stones and using their theoretical combined power to track her down, mysterious past or not. She even offers to put in a good word for him.

“After all,” she says, quite reasonably, “some of the stones might be in _America_. You would have to go find an abandoned attic in _Vegas_ , and no one wants to do that.”

“You’d be sharing it with a bunch of drunk Americans.” Chat adds.

This, of all things, makes Hawkmoth gasp in horror. “You might have a point.”

“Anyway, you’re skating over the most important question,” Chat interrupts, because at this rate they’ll spend yet another _hour_ talking about the difference between being open with your feelings and having absolutely no verbal filter, and _seriously Hawkmoth if you tell your son he’s the bane of your existence just because he broke a piece of furniture of course he’s going to have issues with you_. Hawkmoth and Ladybug both shift their gazes to him, which is a little bit intimidating, sure, but he’s Chat Noir, master of the awkward one liners, and so he presses on.

“It’s just—Hawkmoth? I mean—really? Your big finish is _butterflies_ , you know, little, fragile, fluttering—they have _nothing to do_ with hawks! I get the moth thing, kind of, if you want to go there…”

Ladybug drops her head into her hands with a protracted groan. Hawkmoth leans back in his chair, tapping his finger to his chin.

“Hmm,” he says, consideringly, “you might have a point.”

Chat nods vigorously. “Right? I know _technically_ we don’t get to pick our names, but the press doesn’t need to know that. It’s not like you’ve ever given it to them.”

“And you’re assuming I _will_ be?”

Chat shoots a look at the iPhone being held up at the booth across from them, likely recording this scene and any scene which might come after. Hawkmoth and Ladybug both follow his gaze, which must make an interesting snippet for the person filming.

“I’m assuming someone’s going to give you one if you don’t.” he says unnecessarily. Adds, “And then you might be stuck with something _awful_.”

“Awful?” Hawkmoth repeats.

Chat takes a moment to stare pointedly at the cane. The flourished and exaggerated lapels. The _freaky mask_. “Awful.” He confirms.

“Moustache Mobster,” Ladybug offers.

“ _What_ —”

“Well it’s not like people _know_ you’ve got…butterflies,” Marinette waves exasperatedly, “And your suit looks like it’s got an inverted moustache on it. And even if they do…”

“Mister Butterfly,” Chat presses, “Your theme song will be that _Butterfly_ song by SMiLE.dk.” He hums a little bit of the tune—even at this point Chat knows that Hawkmoth has likely never heard the song, let alone the terrible memes that might follow. Hawkmoth’s face—the part that’s visible—pales. Chat can’t help himself from adding, “And that _mask_ …”

Hawkmoth takes a long sip from his cup, likely to hide his discomfort—he does so rather elegantly, despite the fact that it’s in a paper cup and costs only a few euros.

“…I will consider it.” He says magnanimously. “Though I shall stick to my name.”

Chat doesn’t even argue. Well, not _yet_ at least. Even though _Papillon de Jour_ would be funny _and_ a pun.

"So," Ladybug says, and Chat tunes back into the conversation, "next week, same time, same place?"

Hawkmoth sighs. Sniffles. Gives in.

"Sounds good."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Headlines read: _Crime-fighting duo defeats evil with caffeine and carbohydrates_. There's a picture below of the three of them, centred around Hawkmoth snickering into a cup of what Adrien knows is chamomile tea, drunk at Ladybug's suggestion.

It's ridiculous. It's insane. It's...working.

"If I knew crime fighting would involve this much butter..." Marinette mutters to herself. Adrien snorts, leaning over and ruffling her hair.

"You look perfect," he says, rolling his r's as is custom, inside or outside the mask, "the polka dot leg warmers are a nice touch."

"It's supposed to be freezing today." she defends.

"I was being honest! You always look beautiful."

Marinette's cheeks flush. It's Adrien's sole delight to see her like this, half in costume, blushing and pleased and lovely.

The latest message on Adrien's group chat reads **_HM_** : _I will meet you two there. Bring gloves. Children should know to bundle up_. At this point Adrien knows better than to argue, which is why Marinette has gone ahead and knit him a little toque with matching cat ears on the crest.

"It's not so bad," Marinette says, "Hawkmoth even pays every time we go out."

"Hawkmoth is my dad's age and probably has a full time job. And since he's not trying to steal our stones anymore—"

"Well Tikki told me that they can't do anything about his missing wife."

“—yeah, so he basically just has a lot of time on his hands," Adrien finishes, sneaking over to where Marinette is fussing with her hair, stealing a quick kiss. It's a bit of a pastime pleasure of his to see how long he can keep her cheeks the same shade as her costume.

"What you're saying is…we have a new best friend." she says after a moment.

"…Well, more like a high handed sponsor. But sure."

Marinette laughs. "We're facebook friends."

"On the PR page maybe." He picks up his phone—a different one from his main cell, bought for the sole purpose of communicate as a superhero—and sends a quick _meet you on the north side of the rink_ to Hawkmoth. "I think it's more like we're his peek into the inner workings of a teenager's mind."

"You give good advice." she says.

Adrien snorts. "Maybe I should give some of it to my dad."

"Hey now," Marinette starts, "he's been better recently."

"He tried to buy me a planetarium the other day." He deadpans at her. "A  _whole_ planetarium."

Marinette giggles. "Well you did say you liked space."

"Once! Off-hand! If he was going to buy me a telescope, a personal size one would've probably been better to start with."

"Probably."

Three buzzes go off in quick succession in Adrien's pocket. He doesn't need to look at it to know that Hawkmoth's likely sent all three separate messages with different nitpickings over their outfit choices, despite neither knowing what the two of them decided to wear nor if they've even left the house yet. Hawkmoth, it turns out, has a lot of money, and a lot of the high handedness that goes a long with that—even when he means well.

Even if he bought the two of them custom made winter jackets last week, to go with their superhero outfits, simply because they'd gone out in the early winter weather wearing sweaters. Even if Marinette's collection of Chat and Ladybug themed clothing was getting a bit too big to be easily explained away as a _bit of a fan obsession_. 

"We should probably get going," he says slowly, as another rapid fire succession of buzzes come from his phone. He refuses to look at them right away—it’d be enabling the poor man, and from the sounds of things there are far too many enablers in Hawkmoth’s life.

"Crime fighting time," Marinette says jokingly as Tikki pops out of her akuma sized puddle of blankets. Winter really isn't their favourite season, and the transformation times seem to be shorter purely out of spite for the cold. Not that it really matters—these days they tend to use the transformations for increasingly infrequent patrols and meeting up with the newest member of the miraculous stone squad.

By far the neediest member.

Marinette hollers out her goodbye to her parents, even though she’s halfway out the window, in full costume—winter jacket and leg warmers included—and has no way of explaining to Sabine and Tom how they’ve left the apartment without being seen. Adrien’s convinced that Marinette’s parents _know_ about their second lives and are just keeping it to themselves until Marinette decides to tell them. It’s the Dupain-Cheng thing to do, complete trust and understanding despite suspecting the dangerous half of her lifestyle. Adrien is even more convinced that this is the family he needs to marry into.

Now, if only he could get his father to understand...

**Author's Note:**

> there are so many things i would explain here, except i clearly warned you this was dumb, look, it's right there in the tags.
> 
> this is entirely spawned because i have writer's block and i happened to read that one comic. you should all read it too, it's a+. 
> 
> (http://baraschino.tumblr.com/post/136991517289/my-thoughts-on-hawkmoth-man-just-needs-to-sit)
> 
> i realize that hawkmoth is actually a type of insect, as opposed to two separate things, one hawk, one moth, but for the sake sake of my humor you'll have to just bear with me there. also, for any of you wondering, papillon de nuit is the french word for moth. it literally translates into night butterfly, which is kinda ridiculous french people. since hawkmoth only seems to attack during the day, i though papillon de jours would be a funny name. look, you and i know he uses butterflies. so does chat noir. it just happens to be a pun both far-reaching and dumb enough that chat would probably like it, and no one can tell me otherwise.
> 
> (well, you could. but i'd probably cover my ears and loudly hum that butterfly song by SMiLE.dk)
> 
> as for the inevitable "why doesn't adrien figure out that hawkmoth is his dad," which as you may be able to tell is clearly the angle i was going for? tv magic, or w/e it is that keep ladybug from recognizing adrien outside the mask and vice versa. although you can assume that a few months/years down the line, when papa agreste has given adrien too many gifts that are SUSPICIOUSLY like what he recommends hawkmoth do, only ridiculously out of proportion, adrien figures it out. and cries. a lot. not because he's sad, but because his dad lived in an attic with butterflies for actual years and is the owner of a ridiculous mask that reminds him of s&m. poor adrien, he has it rough.
> 
> (yes the title is from that stromae song. don't judge. you're here with me.)


End file.
